He jerked his arm away. "That's what you said about the advice column, and the fashion bullshit, and the editing. It's not going [i]anywhere[/i]! And neither are you!" He snapped. He scowled at her. 

"But [i]I[/i] am. I'm tired of working my ass off for rent money while you screw around, writing for that jackass. I'm done, Evie. I'm leaving." He stormed into the bedroom to grab a backpack and began stuffing it full with essentials. He'd be back for the rest later. When he was done, he stormed to the front door. 

"Call me when you get some fucking sense," He said coldly before walking out the door, slamming it behind him.